From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 00:50:15 1996 Date: Fri, 21 Jun 1996 18:33:46 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 1. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ This story is set between the events of `Convictions' and those of `A Day in the Strife'. This story was written by David Brownless ("Devious Brownies") and comments and criticism should be sent to D.M.Brownless@rl.ac.uk. The characters and situations of the television show "Babylon 5" are the intellectual property of Warner Brothers and are used without permission. Additional material by David Brownless may be used by anyone provided that acknowledgement of its origin is included. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 1. Lennier bowed deeply to the other Minbari, a worker who returned the gesture, and pretended to take great interest in her progress through the departure gate. His retreating `guest' had done nothing to warrant his personal attention, but had eagerly agreed to act as a cover for the aide's presence in the lounge. Marcus had called her a `beard', but Lennier knew the word referred to male facial hair and suspected the ranger was just exercising that humour peculiar to his race. Once through the gate, the Minbari woman turned and made a second, more perfunctory, bow to Lennier before boarding. Lennier put on a gentle smile and proceeded to take a polite interest in his surroundings, seemingly oblivious to two other passengers checking in for the same flight. Their clothing was strikingly similar, a fact unusual in itself given that one was a Minbari and the other human, and had they been stood next to each other an interested observer might have taken it for a uniform of sorts. But the two men were apart by several other passengers, though still close enough to be permanently within each other's line of sight, and their clothes were differently arranged. So while the Minbari's dress gave the impression of something with an ancient and formal meaning, the human had the air of someone wearing a favourite purchase, something with no more import than a poncho from Mexico or a Burberry from London. Absently, Lennier glanced in their direction only a couple of times as he revelled in the inhalation and exhalation of men and women and goods and stories that swirled around him. The breath of life of the station. Remarkably, both casual glimpses coincided with one or other of the strange companions' progress through the departure check. Satisfied at their egress, Lennier soaked up a minute more of the atmosphere of the emigration bay before setting off back through the crowd to inform Delenn. He had made it as far as the neighbouring arrivals lounge when a clear, loud and exuberant voice called his name. Lennier knew well who owned that voice and strained to hold his smile. "Mr. Lennier!" Mollari shouted again, just as loudly, "The very person I wanted to see!" As the diminutive Minbari turned, the Centauri ambassador beckoned him over. "Well, maybe not the VERY person, apparently Delenn is too busy to see me - I ask you is THAT the way to treat a fellow ambassador - but I can tell you, you were very high on the list!" Londo tilted his head to one side then the other, studying Lennier's profile. "You are feeling well I trust? How's the head?" he queried in an unbroken stream of words, "You look tired, that Delenn is working you too hard. You need rest! Unlike Vir! If he rested any MORE, I'd have to have him declared legally dead! VIR!?" Mollari started searching the crowd for his missing aide. Vir's head popped out from behind Londo's shoulder. "Right here, Londo." he answered. Seeing Lennier, Cotto flashed a worried expression and rolled his eyes towards the ambassador. Perturbed, Lennier asked, "What can I do for you Ambassador?" "I am expecting a visitor," the Centauri explained, "a very important guest, and I would like to be able give them the courtesy of a proper welcome." He shrugged expressively. "I would LIKE, but Delenn, the captain, Commander Ivanova, even Mr. Garibaldi, are all too busy to show a little respect. But my dear Lennier, YOU, you are not too busy, yes?" "Well, I..." the Minbari began, pensively. "Good!" Londo decided for him, putting an arm around Lennier's shoulders, "You will tell your grandchildren about this day, I promise you." He started to lead the uncertain aide towards the arrival gates. As Vir took position at his other shoulder, Lennier returned the earlier worried look. "Who is this special guest, Ambassador?" he asked. "What, and spoil the surprise?" Londo decried. The Minbari threw a frantic glance at Vir, who just shrugged and whispered, "`They never tell us anything!' remember?" The unlikely party came to a stop by one of the gates, and Lennier tried again. "But how will I know to give the proper form of address?" "True." Londo conceded, "Very well, I am awaiting the arrival of the Moyal! It is a great honour to this station that she is coming here." None the wiser, Lennier turned again to Vir. He paused when he saw how his counterpart trembled. In a flurry of panic, Vir started to straighten his clothes and preened the hair at his temples and brow. "The Moyal?" he asked of the Ambassador. "Our greatest living opera singer!" explained Mollari, shocked at the Minbari's ignorance, "She's coming to give a performance, a SPECIAL performance." He leaned in conspiratorially, "It will be the premier of a brand new aria! One written to celebrate our new renaissance, and our victory over the Narn. Shh, here she comes." The Centauri woman Mollari indicated was young, and had the same full, statuesque figure Lennier remembered from his studies in Earth culture as seeing in human divas. She walked with incredible grace and poise, her hands held lightly together in front of her, while behind her two young Centauri males carried several large travelling cases. With a start, Lennier noticed that, against normal Centauri custom, she was not completely bald, though her remaining hair - brunette, and as lustrous as fur - was cropped short. Starting at her temples, and forming a broadening band round the back of her head, where the style suddenly widened to reach from the top of her head to the her neck. the Minbari thought. The Moyal caught sight of the waiting party, and instantly her poise was forgotten. With an exclamation of surprise and delight, she ran forward to meet them. "Vir!" she exclaimed. "Pollijay!" came the aide's reply. He took a step forward to meet her and they embraced with a warm familiarity. As they laughed and hugged, Lennier stole a look at the ambassador. Londo just stared, unbelieving. Chapter 2. "Why don't you introduce us, Vir?" Mollari interrupted, his voice carrying a quiet undertone of menace. Quickly, Vir disentangled himself from the clinch. "Pollijay," he started, before correcting himself, "Moyal, this is Ambassador Mollari." "Ambassador, a pleasure to meet you." the Moyal acknowledged with a bow, "I often hear your name at court." "How gratifying to be remembered." Londo replied, puffing himself up, "May I introduce Mr. Lennier of the Minbari delegation." The Minbari bowed low. "He saved my life you know!" the ambassador amended, "At great risk to his own I might add." "Then he is deserving of the greatest respect." the Moyal remarked with a deep curtsey, "And I would be honoured if he would consider himself my friend." "It is I who would be honoured." Lennier replied, deferrently, "Though I have not had the pleasure of hearing the Moyal sing, I understand that my loss is soon to be corrected." The Centauri woman smiled deeply, though Lennier felt sure that the expression was ambiguous in meaning. "I hope you are not disappointed." she answered, "I expect it to be my greatest performance! Though I had not expected to share it with my favourite cousin, Vir." Addressing his aide, Mollari said sternly, "Vir, why did you never say the Moyal was your cousin?" "You never asked." Cotto replied, "And we're distant cousins on my mother's side." He looked lovingly at his rediscovered relative "I wasn't even sure you'd remember me." "How could I forget you!" the Moyal replied, "Remember the royal gardens? The cassa reeds?" Immediately the two Centauri fell into giggles, while Lennier and Mollari looked on, uncomprehending. "Yes, well I was going to show you round the station." Londo commented uncomfortably, "But I can see that it would be better if Vir had that honour. If you will excuse me?" With a bow, the ambassador waved for the Moyal's two assistants to follow him and set off across the bay, with only the slightest air of affronted dignity. "Oh dear, I think he's upset." Vir commented as he watched Londo's retreating back. "Well this time it's my turn to get kicked in the pants!" Pollijay replied cryptically. Again the pair collapsed into giggles. The Moyal noticed Lennier's puzzled expression and started to explain. "When we were children, and our parents were attending court, we were left to play in the gardens surrounding the palace." She glanced conspiratorially at Vir. "Only one day we got annoyed at the constant disapproving stares of the other nobles walking in the grounds, so I made Vir a head-dress of the dark cassa reeds that grew along side the ornamental ponds..." "And we paraded around, arm in arm like a lord and lady, behind them," Vir continues, "and copied their every gesture..." "Until some young nobles chased us off." Pollijay added, "We had to jump over a hedge to escape them, but Vir stopped to help me over first." "And so I was still climbing when they caught up with us, and got kicked the rest of the way over for my troubles." Vir finished. "I thought you were very gallant." the Moyal remarked to Vir's embarrassment, "To make a sacrifice for others is the greatest kindness, don't you agree Mr. Lennier." Lennier nodded his assent. "The Minbari consider it on of the defining principles of sentience. But I don't understand why you chose to be so disrespectful of the elders?" "Respect is not won by great age, but by great deeds." Pollijay replied sternly. She glanced wistfully at her cousin. "Today they would not even notice us. Everyone, it seems, walks around with their chests puffed out and their chins in the air. As if this terrible brutality is their `great deed'. They are as much a mockery as we were, all those years ago!" Desperately, Vir tried to wave her to silence. "Please, it is not safe to say such things anymore!" Pollijay snorted derisively, "I was made Moyal to Emperor Turhan, not this puppet of Lord Refa's. Then I was honoured to sing, now I am merely obliged." ---===***===--- Londo stared uncomfortably at the screen. "They will not like it!" he insisted. Lord Refa's image grew disdainful. "If they do not co-operate, their families on Narn will be made to suffer. If they are made aware of this they will realise that they have no choice." "Yes, threats and more threats." Mollari remarked, waving Refa's comment aside, "Eventually all the threats will wear thin, and then what?" He wagged an admonishing finger at the noble. "You know the Narn. When it comes to their pride, they are anything but reasonable. It will take more than threats to make them do this!" "What are you suggesting, that we DEAL with the Narn?" Refa countered, annoyed at the ambassador's continued resistance. "I am suggesting nothing of the kind!" said Londo hotly, "I am merely saying that we can tempt them into attending the concert at no great cost to ourselves." He implored Refa, "Think about it. If, as well as the warnings, we were to let it be known that we would allow any Narn who co- operates to send a message, suitably vetted of course, back home to their families. Then I doubt even G'Kar would consider the indignity not worth the reward." "G'Kar," Refa mused, "yes we must do something about G'Kar." He brought himself back to the business at hand. "Another time, perhaps. Very well, Mollari, we will do as you suggest. And how is our songbird?" "The Moyal!?" the ambassador queried, disturbed at the disrespectful term Refa used, "She is well. It turns out my Aide, Vir Cotto, is a relative of hers. He is showing her the station now." "A happy coincidence." the noble remarked, sincerely pleased, "Perhaps this will improve her demeanour. She has seemed so pensive of late that I had even considered replacing her." Shocked, Londo stammered, "Replaced? The Moyal is never replaced until she dies, or becomes too infirm to perform!" "Times change, Ambassador," Refa said, menacingly, "and with them, customs. You might to well to remember that!" The screen snapped back to the Babcom logo as the noble closed the channel. Suddenly cold in the silent emptiness of his room, Londo shivered briefly. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 00:50:26 1996 Date: Fri, 21 Jun 1996 18:50:54 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 2. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 3. Sheridan looked across his desk at the Centauri ambassador much as he would something that had just crawled out from under a rock. "You can't be serious!" he exclaimed. "I am quite serious!" Mollari disputed, "Surely, Captain, you understand that we are doing this in the interests of peace?" "Oh I understand why you're doing this all right. And it has nothing to do with peace!" the captain slapped the table angrily, "Well, you are not doing it on MY station." "Captain Sheridan!" Londo spat, his voice taking volume from his rage, "I do not need your permission, and it is not your choice. It is theirs." The Centauri forced himself into a more conciliatory tone. "The Narn must learn their new place in the scheme of things." he rationalised, "As long as there is resistance, there WILL be bloodshed! The sooner everyone understands this, the sooner there will be peace." The ambassador waved their dispute to one side. "Pah, I did not come all this way to argue politics with YOU." Londo added uncharitably, "I am merely here to inform you that my government has requested that you be present at the Moyal's performance." "Or what, you'll threaten MY family too?" Sheridan persisted, belligerently, "Not a chance, Ambassador, so you'll just have to hold your little `triumph' without me." "May I remind you that my government has still to receive your apology for the incident with the G'Tok!" Mollari threatened. "And may I remind YOU that your government has still to turn over the individual who planted that bomb on the monorail!" countered Sheridan, "Besides, it is not a matter of whether I want to attend or not, but whether I am able. If you hadn't made all these preparations in secret, well I just might have left a window free in my timetable. But as it is, I'll inquire which of my JUNIOR officers are free to attend. Good-day Ambassador." Sensing defeat, Mollari stood up and started towards the door. As it opened for him, he turned and made one last comment to the captain. "You know, our governments are allies, so we should really be friends, you and I." "Do you REALLY want to hear my answer to that, Ambassador?" Sheridan replied stiffly. Venomously, Londo remarked, "I can guess!" Left alone to reflect, Sheridan began to regret antagonising the Centauri. The situation at home was increasingly volatile and he doubted how much leverage he could really apply to back-up any of his decisions. he decided, and activated his link. "Commander Ivanova." he instructed it. After a moment's pause, the reply came, "Ivanova here." "Susan, it's John." he identified himself, "Find Garibaldi, then both of you come to my office. I've got a little job for you." ---===***===--- Ivanova smiled and let slip an indulgent chuckle. Sheridan continued looking at her levelly. "It's a joke, right?" she noted. The captain didn't answer. "This IS a joke?" she added unsurely. Still no answer. Desperately, Susan sought confirmation from Garibaldi, "Michael?" Sheridan cut in, "I've already told Londo I'm not going, and I'm NOT about to back down to that sonofabitch! You two are the next logical choice." Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the captain added, "If we antagonise him too much it might stir up trouble for us back home. And THAT we don't need any more of!" "And Londo knows it." Garibaldi commented, "He's threatening us as surely as he is the Narn." The chief gave a resigned shrug. "Still, it's not all bad." he told Ivanova, "At least we're going out on a date." "Garibaldi!" Susan warned. "Hey, best behaviour, promise!" he reassured her, "I'll even break out my dress uniform." "No way! You turn up in that and the date's..." she started, then hurriedly corrected herself, "the EVENING is off! I've seen your dress uniform, it looks like you've slept in it!" "You should see my pyjamas." "I'll pass, thanks." she replied, disdainfully. "Okay, I'll go casual." the chief acceded, "But that means you'll have to do the same or it'll look odd." The commander sighed. "Deal." "Wear something slinky." Michael advised, "Something in green would suit you." Ivanova scowled at him. "Okay, how about purple?" Garibaldi noted the commander's slow change of colour with a private satisfaction. Figuring he'd taken the gag as far as was healthy, Michael wisely chose to shut up. "Well I'll leave it up to you two to work out the details." said a grinning Sheridan, "Michael, the performance is tomorrow night, but I should think the Centauri will be making some kind of announcement pretty soon now." "My people'll be ready for any trouble when they do." the chief assured him. As he stood to leave, Garibaldi couldn't resist offering his arm to the commander. Very deliberately, Ivanova ignored the proffered limb as she got to her feet. Michael threw a `worth a try' shrug in the direction of the captain. Sheridan just shook his head, amazed at the chief's apparent disregard for his own safety. With a nod, the two officers left Sheridan's office in different directions. Once outside, Ivanova cast a surreptitious glance at Garibaldi's retreating back. she thought to herself, Once safely out of the chief's sight, Susan abruptly changed direction and started towards Green section. Chapter 4. Vir hovered nervously in the green corridor, and looked (for the eighteenth time) in both directions then back to the Moyal. "I'm not sure this is a good idea!" he whispered. "Of course it is!" Pollijay reprimanded him, sternly. "If Londo knew about this, he wouldn't approve." Vir persisted. "I'm sure he would realise that his approval is quite inconsequential in this!" the Moyal gibed, "Don't worry so, Vir! Have I ever got you into trouble?" "Yes, you made me a wig out of cassa reeds, remember?" Vir answered. Pollijay arched one eyebrow. "Touche!" The door they stood by slid open with a hiss, and Lennier emerged. "The ambassador will see you now." he said, formally. Pollijay bowed to the waiting Minbari attache and walked gracefully into the room past him. After a final look up and down the corridor, Vir scurried after her. He caught up just in time to see Pollijay curtsey to the Minbari ambassador. He made a hurried bow before stepping forward to make the introductions. "Ambassador Delenn, may I introduce the Moyal." Delenn bowed to her guest. "I am honoured that you wished to see me." she greeted, contriving to make her words carry a hint of inquiry. Pollijay smiled. "I must admit a selfish motive." she hinted, "My visit to this station has accorded me the opportunity to ask a favour of one uniquely placed to grant it." Delenn's smile slipped slightly as she glanced towards her aide. But Lennier could only shake his head slightly in response. Warily, Delenn studied the Centauri woman stood before her. The Moyal stood easily, her arms loosely at her side, and her expression decidedly neutral. Disturbed, Delenn walked over to where one of her plants stood on a tall table. In the lengthening silence she started to make small circles with her fingers in the dark soil at its base. She looked back to where Pollijay stood waiting. "This favour that you would ask." she remarked, "Might it not be more appropriate for it to come from your own ambassador?" "Please, Ambassador, do not refuse to listen." the composed Centauri pleaded quietly, stepping forward to where Delenn stood, "I ask only that you relay my respects to another of your race. Had I more time here, I would not have broken so with protocol." "And your message is to?" the Minbari ambassador queried. "Nasalann." the Moyal explained, "A Minbari visitor to the court of Turhan told me how one of your musicians had expressed her appreciation of my performances, and intrigued, I contrived to obtain recordings of hers." Pollijay paused, and her eyes softened as they focused on some distant, and invisible, scene. "I had never heard a Minbari ballad before. The beauty of their structure and intricacy... she spoke with the voice of things ancient and glorious. Nasalann inspired me to study the musical traditions of many races, and her music gave me Bach of Earth, Drazi war-chants, and the choral tradition of the Narn." The Centauri woman looked back at the ambassador, her face wet with tears. "I beg you, tell Nasalann that her music enriched my life more than she could ever know." Delenn nodded, a model of composure. "I shall be honoured to do as you ask." she agreed. Then hesitantly, her hand perpetually on the verge of retreat, she reached up to wipe the tears from Pollijay's face. She studied the glistening film on her fingertips as Lennier escorted the two Centauri away. On his return, the ambassador regarded him with a strangely cold expression. "There is more to her request than she has said." she informed him, "It was as important to her that I hear her message as that it be delivered." ---===***===--- Pollijay waited until they came to a quiet corridor before stopping. In its emptiness, she paused to dry her face and regain her composure. Gradually, she became aware the Vir was staring at her. She waited in silence for him to speak. At length he asked, "Why did you do that?" "Do what?" she replied, disingenuously. "There was no need to go directly to Ambassador Delenn. You could have sent a message directly to Minbar at any time." Pollijay ducked the question. "Oh, you know how I always leave things to the last moment." She paused before deciding to speak further. "Vir..." she started, before a figure rounded the corner and interrupted. Ivanova came to an abrupt stop. "Mr. Cotto." she acknowledged. "Commander." Vir answered, the human glanced at his companion and gave him a questioning look. "Pollijay, this is Commander Ivanova of Earth." he introduced, hurriedly adding, "Commander, this is the Moyal." "Oh yes, the singer, right?" Ivanova remarked airily, "I believe the captain mentioned you were touring." Pollijay was taken aback, those she chose not to show it. "Have I done something to upset you, Commander?" she asked. Susan's answer was a characteristically undiplomatic, "Not yet. But give it time." She side-stepped the group and walked on in the direction the Centauri had just come from. "The commander has some very strongly held views on the recent conflict," Vir apologised, "I should have thought of that before." "It's a good thing for the humans that she isn't on their diplomatic staff!" Pollijay remarked with a laugh. "She is." corrected Vir, with a small shudder. Pollijay started to laugh, softly at first, then faster and louder until she was too short of breath to continue. Somewhat puzzled, Vir smiled politely. "What was so funny?" he asked. "Just that people still wonder why the whole universe is going to the Xon!" the Moyal answered. Her voice wavered with just a hint of hysteria. At Vir's look of concern, she made a more reassuring pose and took his hand. "Come on Vir, tell me everything that's happened to you since we last saw each other. Everything mind you!" "But it's been years!" Vir protested, he felt Pollijay squeeze his hand and sighed, "All right, I'll try. Just stop me if I get boring!" "We have so little time to spend together, you and I." Pollijay answered sadly, "But I can think of no better way of spending it that listening to my favourite cousin." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 00:50:31 1996 Date: Fri, 21 Jun 1996 19:15:44 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 3. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 5. Sheridan shaded his eyes with one hand and whistled. "What, you don't like it?" Garibaldi asked, plucking at the front of his brightly coloured shirt. The riot of shape and hue seemed to swallow the relatively subdued purple of his waistcoat and render it invisible. John thought, commenting aloud, "Well it's okay when I'm looking AT it. But when I look away, the afterimage gives me motion sickness!" "Yeah, and the beauty of it is, if you ARE sick on this shirt, who'd notice?" Garibaldi admitted, then grinned, "Susan'll just hate it!" "Anyone who can sit through an evening with THAT shirt, deserves a medal!" Sheridan remarked. The security chief dithered. "Well, I can't run to a medal, but I did manage to rustle up a peace-offering for afterwards." he admitted. At the captain's quizzical stare, he explained, "Stolichnaya Vodka." "Is that good?" Sheridan asked. "Well Moskovskaya is supposed to be better, but with only 48 hours notice I..." Garibaldi's voice trailed off until he just stood there in silence, a strange rigour gripping his face. Sheridan had just concluded that the chief must have forgotten how to move his mouth, when he noticed Michael's eyes were locked to something moving behind him, their little saccades of adjustment tracking a sight that had the chief paralysed. The captain glanced over his right shoulder, then slowly turned to face that way. "What the..." he stammered. "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen." Ivanova apologised with a smile. She looked slowly from the chief's face to the captain's and back. "Is anything the matter?" she asked innocently. Her dress was black, with the matt lustre of sand-washed silk. Starting half off the commander's shoulders it fell sharply to an intricately worked, and daringly low, decollete. One that chose to reveal an unsettling amount of ivory smooth skin. From then on it shaped itself with even perfection to Susan's obviously taut figure before separating itself on the curve of her hips. To finish, the dress segued into in a multitude of uniform folds that fell to halfway down her shins. Belatedly, Sheridan realised that he had seen that particular dress before, and on someone else. "Say, isn't that..." he started. Ivanova's eyes drilled into him, and John imagined he could just make out twin cross- hairs in her pupils as they zeroed in on him. "my console I hear ringing." he dissembled, weakly. Rapidly, he excused himself and retreated to the comparative safety of his office. "Nice shirt." Susan remarked, looking the security chief up and down. "Uh, thanks." Michael replied, still somewhat distracted. "Pity someone puked on it." she continued, with an air of regret, "Still, what's important is that you made an effort!" She watched with a quiet contentment as Garibaldi flushed. "We'd better get going." Michael prompted, uncomfortably. His shoulders twitched uneasily under his shirt and Ivanova could make out the broken sheen of the prickle of sweat that was forming on his neck. "Not to fast, these heels are murder!" Susan cautioned. With a moment's though, and a wicked grin, she held out her arm. Garibaldi wiped his face with one hand. "Man, I give up." he admitted, "I know when I'm outclassed!" He linked one arm with Ivanova's and gestured down the corridor with the other. "Shall we?" ---===***===--- Ambassador Mollari raised his glass in welcome to Delenn and Lennier as Vir ushered them into his specially reserved box. "Ambassador Delenn!" he called, much louder than required, "Welcome, come in, come in. You are prepared for a great spectacle, I hope?" He pretended not to notice the truculent stares of the Narn gathering in the stalls below him and let slip a hearty laugh. It mingled with the many similar sounds of revelry that issued from the circle seats, where many Centauri had apparently arranged numerous impromptu parties. The other boxes held small groups of prominent Centauri, sometimes accompanied by guests from other races, many had ordered lavish buffets and refreshments be laid out. All except the two boxes immediately adjacent to Londo's that is. These had been set aside for the half a dozen camera that served the press of twice that number of worlds. "Here, you will sit by me." he ordered, patting one of the six chair arranged along the front of the compartment, "Only the best seats in the house for my esteemed colleague!" As the Minbari seated themselves, Londo leaned over and yelled through the doorway, "Vir! Drinks for our guests." Delenn made to protest, but Londo cut her off with a wave. "It's water only, Delenn." he reassured her, then shuddered. Vir bustled through the doorway, and after nervously thrusting a glass into the hands of the two Minbari, hissed, "Londo!" "What IS it Vir?" Mollari queried irritably. Vir gestured rapidly with his eyes back towards the door until the Centauri ambassador turned. His smile faded completely, before returning much broader than before. "Commander Ivanova," he greeted, "this is a new look for you, yes?" "I thought you might be tired of seeing the same blue uniforms all the time." Susan replied, "And what with us being here in an unofficial capacity..." she let the barbed comment hang. Londo ignored it. "Fine, fine." he said agreeably, "Here, YOU can sit by me too!" "But Londo," Vir protested, "that's my seat." "You!" Mollari roared, "You can sit on the end with Mr. Garibaldi. And his most unusual shirt." "Glad you like it." Garibaldi remarked sweetly, "I'll give you the name of my tailor." "Please do," Londo acceded, "that way I'll know to avoid him." Taking his seat, the ambassador patted the chair next to him. "Commander?" he prompted. "Okay." Ivanova agreed, "Just keep your hands well away from your pockets." "I don't know what you mean!" Londo protested, smiling ferally. "I mean, if I see anything I can't immediately identify as belonging near me, I'll tie a knot in it." The intent plain in her smile overmatched his, and the Centauri shifted uncomfortably. Chapter 6. As the lights began to dim, Ivanova looked down at the sullen Narn below her. Many were as subdued as the lighting, their heads bowed in shame for their weakness in being there. She turned and spoke quietly to Londo, at ease in the chair beside her, "I am surprised you seated the Narn in the stalls. Those are usually considered to be the premium seats." "Am I right in thinking that you humans refer to these seats as `the gods'?" Londo commented, slyly, "Much more appropriate seating for Centauri, yes?" "Only because your greatness is entirely mythical!" Ivanova muttered under her breath. Turning towards Garibaldi, Susan took the glass from his hand and stole a swallow of the water it contained. It didn't help to wash the sour distaste from her mouth. As she made to return the glass she saw the chief regarded her with some concern. She gave a little shake of her head. she mouthed at him. Then the blackness of the stage was torn by a shaft from a single spotlight. Slowly the pure whiteness of the light shaded into icy blue hues, and somewhere a technician activated a scintillation screen that scattered the light source. The bright circle on the stage began to flicker and dance like cold fire. A second, red-orange light was engaged, its radiance centred precisely over the first's, and the fire was no longer cold. Illusory flames appeared to lick and cavort in front of the audience's eyes, while the ebb and flow of the azure fire hinted at the inferno's mystical origins. The music was born of this fire. First an odd note here and there, then chords, then bars played solo by one or other instrument. Each sound corresponded to a burst of light from the ring of `flame', like the pops and crackles of a log fire. As these snatches of music grew more frequent - until finally two or three, or more, instruments began to form `accidental' harmonies - the Moyal glided out of the blackness and walked through the fire to stand in its centre. She wore a full length dress of carmine velvet, the bottom half of which was surfaced with slashes of embroidery done in a silver thread. This detailing caught and reflected the light so that the diva appeared to be half made of fire. Covered in flames, yet not consumed by them. Two great crescents of filigree silver stood proud from her head, their arcs intersecting to make the crossed-curve motif so ubiquitous in Centauri design. Though delicate, ebony combs caught in the Moyal's hair to hold the head-dress in place, they were invisible at any distance and the whole cowl to appear to float above her shoulders. The Moyal stood there silently - wreathed in occult fire, dressed in cloth stained the colour of blood, and crowned with a coronet subtly reminiscent of swords or spears - as the martial music built triumphantly. It grew like a living thing around her, and transformed her into a goddess of war made flesh. Then the symphony began to gather like a storm. Several threads of sound - marches, charges, parades - began to fight with each other and for each other, supported by near-vocal cries of rage and triumph torn free of the instruments by their masters. Finally, the music soared to a crescendo of emotion, then fell in a rapid cascade of seemingly random notes until every instrument in the orchestra was playing the same pure tone. The note lengthened and softened as it prepared for its seamless segue into the Moyal's voice. And as the diva drew breath all the instruments fell silent except for a single flute, but the cue came and went without the Moyal making a sound. Her expression was determined, but her mouth remained closed. Rapidly, other instruments rejoined the score, and wind and string gave up their voices in an effort to cover for the diva's slip. With consummate professionalism, the Centauri conductor orchestrated a second crescendo following musical instincts honed on such eventualities. A second peak, a second cascade, a second solemn note. Again, the Moyal drew breath, but again her face set hard and she ignored the prompting flute. Suddenly it was obvious that the Centauri woman was fighting her instincts, willing herself to be still when all her training cried out for her to take the music and make it live. The flute fell silent. Bereft of its musical foundation, the scintillation effect slowed and weakened until some distracted technician cut it altogether. The goddess of war was gone, banished, along with the deathless style and technological wizardry that had summoned her. In her place, a lone and almost insignificant Centauri woman stood in silence in a circle of rose tinted light. She bowed her head. The points of the great head-dress hung down and all its imagery of weapons seems to flow away, until all that remained were falling curves. Like those of a willow tree. Like those of a weeping figure. The Moyal's shoulders swept backwards as she drew resolution from some secret well inside her. She raised her head high and stared with furious defiance at where the circle of her fellows sat unseen in the blackness. Then, finally, the Moyal began to sing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 00:58:50 1996 Date: Mon, 24 Jun 1996 16:17:56 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 4. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 7. Garibaldi sat uncomfortably in the semi-darkness, and listened. Part of him felt betrayed, and tried to collect his anger, but the chief resisted. He was still dully aware of his heightened heartbeat, and marvelled at the emotional charge that had been designed into the performance. The music had cosseted his nerves, the visuals had engaged his interest, and only then had the woman appeared. She had stood, like a phoenix in the flames, and personified all the mythical honour and glory of war. And Garibaldi had been bewitched. He'd felt Ivanova's knee trembling against his thigh, but had been unable to tear his eyes from the stage to steal a glance at her. Part of him had rebelled at the accolades being thrown at the brutality of conflict. Part of him had cried, But he had ignored it until, starved of attention, the voice had died away. Perhaps for the first time, Michael truly understood why people say that power is an aphrodisiac. The Moyal had stood omnipotent in front of him and he had been paralysed by her spell, just another fly trapped in her web. Then in a moment, the illusion had been shattered. Without moving, the Moyal had managed to tear the fabric of unreality that had been so carefully woven for her. Now there was nothing but a solitary Centauri woman in a circle of light. Looking strangely sombre, and fragile. As she made her first sound, Garibaldi shifted attentively forward in his seat. But as the song unfurled, his puzzlement grew. The words were clear enough, though not knowing the Centauri language he couldn't ascribe any meaning to them. But the way they were sung, sung with obvious passion, unnerved him. His palms itched. "Sivodna mi pesnalu netyesho," the Moyal sang, "D'la m'noga imet padatni t'khi. Nash glaza krav'tochat is vept, Nash gorli slabi is s'vata nash d'ti imi." Suddenly, she broke off, but only to raise her eyes to the heavens. The song restarted. "Muska ani shivuli v'vi, Muska patirani v'vi. Nash siz'ni besvi pesna bes muska. Sivodna mi pesnalu netyesho." Garibaldi frowned. The alien lyrics scythed through him with their conviction, but the melody of each line clashed jarringly with the last. It was almost as though someone had sat down and deliberately wrote an un- song. "It doesn't sound like any Centauri opera I'VE every heard." he muttered to himself. "It's not Centauri," came Vir's voice from his left, "It's Narn. It's a Narn requiem to their dead of the first occupation. It means `Today we sing no more.'!" The security chief looked across to where the Centauri attache sat. In the dimness, he could see the stocky figure trembling and at first assumed it was with anger. The faint sheen of the light from the stage reflected off the wetness on Vir's face and told him he was wrong. Michael looked back to where the Moyal stood, exaltedly crucifying her career, and quietly slipped a hand into his trouser pocket to retrieve his link. Almost casually, he shifted his chair backwards until there was room enough for him to slip away to the back of the box unnoticed. Once linked in, Michael immediately opened a channel to the security office. "Zack, I want every warm body we've got at the Callas theatre and I want them an hour ago!" he snapped under his breath. "On it, Chief." came Zack's reply, followed was a moment's pause in which Garibaldi could just hear his aide giving orders on another channel. "The nearest squads should be there inside a minute." the sergeant reported, "What's up?" "The `Moyal' is about to finish her performance, and about half the audience will be out for her blood." Michael hinted, "Have some people seal off the backstage area, and I mean tight!" "Check. The Narn are really pissed huh?" Zack remarked. "Guess again!" Garibaldi snorted, and broke the connection. Quietly he made his way back to his seat. Only Ivanova had noticed his absence, the two Centauri too caught up in the events in front of them, the two Minbari too far away to see. She looked at him questioningly as he sat down, and he showed her his link, back in place on his hand. The commander nodded her approval briefly as she turned away. "Sivodna mi pesnalu netyesho!" the Moyal sang, her voice nearly a shout, then stopped. In silence she reached up, and with a few deft tugs unfastened the dramatic head-dress. It fell at her feet with a dry thud. Soundlessly, the Centauri woman turned and walked back the way she had first come, out of the spotlights and into impenetrable darkness. Without the woman who cast it, the spell began to come apart. Sporadic cries from the circle vied with cheers from the stalls. As the hall lights brightened to normal strength, people began to move and congregate, tensions began to rise. From his coign of vantage, Garibaldi watched as opposing groups began to size each other up. A riot in such an enclosed space didn't bear thinking about, and Garibaldi was on the verge of stepping out to take charge when he noticed small knots of grey uniforms surreptitiously move in to block the exits from the stalls. From both sides of him came the faint cries of a second wave of security as they cleared the circle in a more or less orderly fashion. Michael had to suppress what would have been a wholly inappropriate smile, but inside he was proud of the quick and sure response of his team. Belatedly, Garibaldi registered discrete attempts to attract his attention from elsewhere in the box. Both Delenn and Ivanova were waving him over to where the Centauri Ambassador sat motionless. As he came closer he realised that Mollari was speaking, quietly but incessantly, apparently addressing the empty stage. It was the same phrase, over and over. "What have you done?" Londo was whispering, "Great Maker! What have you done?" Chapter 8. Everyone but the Centauri looked up sharply as the door swung open unexpectedly. A petite woman security guard stepped smartly into the box, one hand placed warningly on her holstered PPG. "Okay everyone, if you'll quietly make your way... Christ!" she started, before recognising the box's occupants. Faced with two ambassadors, the station commander and her own boss, the guard's confidence wilted and she started to withdraw. "It's okay, Rachel." Garibaldi assured her, waving her in. He watched her look around and take in the scene. Londo just sat. He'd stopped muttering in favour of leaning forward, head bowed, to rest his weight on one knee. His other hand pinched his eyes closed and he appeared to be deep in thought. Delenn and the commander stood to one side of the box, exchanging urgent whispers and intermittently glancing at Mollari, or the stage, or the restless crowds. Which only left the two diplomatic aides. Vir stared at the vacant stage with vacant eyes. There was fear, and anger, and dejection, but no reason, no mind in his profitless gaze. The young Centauri's hands held each other tight and pressed hard against his lower lip as Vir rocked slowly back and forth in his seat. All the time he trembled slightly. Lennier crouched beside him, the Minbari's face a mixture of compassion and concern, and rested one hand lightly on Vir's shoulder. Beyond that, the Minbari attache was at a loss for what to do, beside wait. "What..." Walden started. Garibaldi interrupted her, "Don't ask. Just don't ask." Before he could explain, the chief was himself interrupted by a heartfelt sigh from Mollari. The Centauri ambassador got stiffly to his feet and started to make his way to the door. Garibaldi swiftly interposed himself. "I can't let you do this, Londo!" he warned. "Mr. Garibaldi!" Londo said in a irritated manner, "It has been a long day, and I'm tired. But now I'll have to pass a disagreeable night with a silly, young girl who is in more trouble than you can know!" "I can guess." Garibaldi commented. "No, you can't!" the Centauri snapped, "Can you see those?" Mollari jabbed a finger at the cameras in the box to his left. "And those?" He pointed to his right. "They have just broadcast this entire debacle LIVE to Centauri prime and all our colonies. Even to NARN, for goodness sake! I should think the imperial court are deciding whether to declare her a traitor at this very moment. Soon they'll call me, but I won't be there to take that call because YOU, Mr. Garibaldi, are stood in my way!" Londo let out the rest of his breath and frowned, his eyes tight closed. He gestured imploringly at the security chief. "So, please, step aside and let me do my job." Garibaldi moved, and without a word the Centauri ambassador was gone. "Rachel," Garibaldi instructed, "Stay here with the others. Make sure they're okay." His looked at Vir, before his eyes locked with Lennier's. "You might want to get a med-team in to look at Mr. Cotto. He seems to have been shook up pretty bad by this." "The Moyal is his cousin." Lennier remarked by way of an explanation. "Jeez!" Garibaldi spat, and nodded to Walden to reinforce his previous order. "What about you chief?" the security guard enquired. "After THIS there's going to be trouble all night!" Michael commented, "Time I was back in uniform." Walden stifled a laugh. "What?" "Nothing, sir! Except..." she said hesitantly, "Isn't it more usual to throw rotten vegetables at the stage?" She nodded at his shirt. Garibaldi stalked away through the door and down the corridor. he fumed silently to himself, ---===***===--- Garibaldi tugged up the zip on his tunic and struggled with the collar as he walked. He was all too aware of the tense, almost fearful looks he was getting from the crowds that still thronged in the corridors and plazas of Red section. The news was spreading. He almost had the fastening done when his link distracted him and the two halves flew apart. "Damn!" he muttered, activating his link, "Garibaldi." "Sir, it's Hamilton." came the tinny voice, "I'm at the stage entrance to the theatre. Ambassador Mollari has just gone in to see the woman." "Why the hell didn't you stop him?" Garibaldi shouted. A small cluster of people caught the tone in his voice and rapidly moved out of his way. "How, Sir?" Hamilton's reply came, "I mean, he IS her ambassador, I couldn't just stick my gun in his face and tell him to sod off!" The security guard sounded slightly flustered. "You should have told him the area was sealed on MY orders." Michael insisted. The security chief's mind flashed to Sean Hamilton laughing at his jokes, Hamilton decking a guy who'd tried to beat up on a woman for dating an alien, Hamilton by his side in a fire-fight. Briefly, Garibaldi felt ashamed at off-loading on his beleaguered agent. "I did." Sean replied, flatly, "I ain't saying where he told me to shove your orders!" "Yeah, I hear you." Garibaldi relented, "I'm on my way there now." He broke the connection. The chief picked up his pace but was interrupted by an outraged shout from his left. He looked round to see the dishevelled figure of a lurker dashing away from one of the stalls, something clutched tightly in his hands. Garibaldi's anger welled up in him, and before he knew it he'd leaped forward and shouldered the fugitive into a wall. He glowered at the prone figure. "Man, you picked the wrong night for this," Michael snarled, "and I don't have time to show you just HOW wrong! But if you're not out of my sight in five seconds, I'll make time!" The terrified lurker scrambled away and to his feet, then fled into the obscurity of the crowd. Garibaldi picked up the stolen item, a small box of carmine wood with inlaid silver, and walked back to the stall. It's proprietor was a sallow Centauri woman. Almost imperceptibly, her hands shook as she took the recovered casket from him. The security chief could see fear in her eyes. "It might be a good idea to call it a night." he advised. "I... I cannot." The woman replied, her English thickly accented, "It is my living." "I guess." reluctantly, Garibaldi agreed, "But the first hint of trouble, you leave this junk and go!" He waited for her to nod acceptance before leaving. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the record, the Moyal is singing; "Today we sing no more, For so many voices have been silenced. Our eyes bleed from weeping, Our throats are weak from calling our children's names. The music lived in you, The music died with you. Our lives without you are songs without music, Today we sing no more." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 00:59:00 1996 Date: Mon, 24 Jun 1996 15:39:04 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 5. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 9. Michael slapped Sean Hamilton apologetically on the shoulder as he passed, and hurried down the backstage corridor to the dressing rooms. He was confronted with a bewildering choice of doors, all closed, and was momentarily stumped. Then Garibaldi noticed that one door, in keeping with a long Earth tradition, had a star motif inset in the metal with a differing grain. He guessed that it must be the one, and stormed in without bothering to knock. His first glance told him he was right. Ambassador Mollari sagged heavily in a plain metal chair to one side of the room and stared across it with tired eyes. The security chief followed the Centauri's gaze to find the Moyal reclined on a elegant chaise-lounge, her eyes closed. One hand rested across her breast, the other was slid languidly under her neck. He took a step towards her. "Don't bother." Mollari said, "It's far too late." Her unnatural stillness struck home, and Garibaldi's eyes came to rest on a small but ornate gold bottle on the floor besides the sofa where she lay. He turned on Mollari. "What the HELL did you do?" "She took her own life!" Londo snapped, wearily. He seemed to slump further in his seat. "It is one of the five `grand gestures' of Centauri opera." he explained, "To commit suicide rather than recognise a corrupt authority." Mollari shook his head sadly. "The foolish child must have actually believed it would make a difference." "You expect me to take this on trust?" an incredulous Garibaldi asked. He started to look around for something with which to safely handle the bottle. "Why didn't you call Med-lab?" "Oh, good idea!" replied Mollari sarcastically, "Let's revive her, so she can face trial and execution on Centauri prime!" To the security chief's shocked expression, he continued, "My government has been in contact, yes. She has been branded a sympathiser with the Narn resistance. Well they can't touch her now!" The Centauri ambassador stared defiantly at Garibaldi. "And frankly, I am glad!" Sickened, Michael picked up the bottle with a small scarf, wrapped it carefully, and put it in his pocket. His link chimed for a attention. "Yeah." he acknowledged. "Garibaldi?" Ivanova queried, "Vir broke away from us when we tried to escort him to a med-lab. He shoved Walden out of the way like a rag- doll, she took quite a knock. It's her link I'm using." "Really, I'm all right." came Rachel's faint voice in the background, she sounded groggy. "I couldn't hold him on my own." Susan apologised, "Michael, I don't think he's quite... sane!" "What about Delenn?" the security chief asked. "She and Lennier headed off for their quarters. Delenn said something about having a message to deliver." Ivanova paused, "I'm going to have a doctor check Walden over. Michael, if Vir's heading for the Moyal, I don't quite know what he'll do." "There's nothing he CAN do." Garibaldi replied, softly, "Nothing anyone can do." He cut the connection without bothering to explain. A shout echoed from the corridor and Garibaldi turned in time to see Vir stalk purposefully into the room. The aide seemed oblivious to the room's other occupants and went directly to where the Moyal lay. A slightly ruffled Hamilton was close behind. "Sorry, Chief." he huffed, "He winded me with a straight-arm, I don't think he even noticed." "It's okay, Sean, I'll take it from here." Garibaldi said, reassuringly. With a nod, the guard started back to his post on the door. Vir was shaking the Moyal by her shoulder. "Pollijay, you've got to wake up!" he hissed at her, "We've got to get you out of here! Pollijay! It's not SAFE here for you anymore, we've got to get away." The young Centauri knelt down by her side and began to whisper urgently in her ear. "I'll get you to safety, just like that time in the gardens. You'll be okay, I promise. Please, Polli, wake up!" "Vir?" Londo called softly from where he sat, "She's gone, Vir. She's gone." The ambassador's tone was gentle, sympathetic, but the effect of his words was to incite his attache. Vir spun, still on his knees. "You killed her." he spat at Londo. "No, Vir, she killed herself. It was her `grand gesture'." Londo cajoled, trying to reach behind the unreason in the other's eyes. "YOU killed her!" Vir insisted, vehemently, "YOUR war, YOUR dreams of glory. You made her a cage and it stifled her!" Londo looked away, unable to meet that stare, unable to frame a denial. Vir turned back to the Moyal and started to cradle her unresisting body. "Remember how you used to sing for me?" he asked, then crooned "Passa lu, passa lu, gallo gallu rana, `little bird, little bird, you sing to me so sweetly'. You were my `little bird'. I loved you Polli." Vir held dead woman tighter. "You could have told me, trusted me." he cried to her, "You could have said goodbye!" He started to make a low keening, that quickly gave way to wracking sobs. Vir's huddled body shook as he rocked back and forth, still clutching his cousin. Quietly, Londo stood and walked out of the room. Garibaldi followed, and the pair walked in silence back to the stage door. Hamilton was stood firm in it, one hand at his holster, determinedly refusing to let a third person slip through. He was exchanging heated words with someone outside. It was G'Kar. "Ah, Mr. Garibaldi!" the tall Narn shouted, catching sight of the security chief over the guard's head, "I MUST see the Moyal, speak with her. It is of the utmost importance." When Garibaldi failed to reply, G'Kar's eyes narrowed, and he scrutinised the chief's face. "No!" he hissed. With a baleful glare at the Centauri ambassador, G'Kar turned on his heel and stormed away. "G'Kar!" Garibaldi called after him, "Dammit, G'KAR!" But the Narn had already gone. Michael glared accusingly at Mollari. "I'll wait here for Vir," Londo said in an exhausted voice, "and then I'll arrange to have the body collected." Hamilton looked sharply at his chief at the mention of a body. Garibaldi shook his head. "Stay here, Sean, make sure no-one disturbs them." He was suddenly aware of the weight in his pocket, he tapped it meaningfully. "If anyone's prints but hers are on this bottle," he snarled at the Centauri, "you'd better make arrangements to have your own body collected!" The ambassador was too weary even to be angry, and Garibaldi turned his back on him and walked away. After a few paces, he stopped and looked back to where Mollari stood. "How many, Londo?" he called, "How many deaths is it going to take?" Chapter 10. "Call connected, please stand by." the computer chimed in its artificially perfect voice. Londo snorted, "What do you think I've been doing for the past hour!" He drained the glass he held and searched for the bottle it had been filled from. Mollari cursed under his breath as he saw it tantalisingly out of reach across the room. As he debated making a rush for it, the screen switched from the familiar Stellacom logo to an equally familiar face. "Lord Refa." Londo greeted it, warily. "Ambassador Mollari." Refa acknowledged, "I trust the Moyal has been told of our decision?" "No." the ambassador answered, and smiled at the look of shock on the other's face. "Why have my instructions not been carried out?" Refa stammered. "I didn't see the point in it." Mollari answered airily, waving his glass in an offhand way. He savoured Refa's outraged stare for a moment before continuing. "She's already dead." he explained, "Suicide." Refa calmed himself. "I see." he said, then grew pensive, "This is most unfortunate, we must find someone else. What of her cousin, Cotto?" "Vir?" Londo said, startled, "He knew nothing of this! He knows very little about anything!" "They were cousins, yes?" Refa insisted, "She must have told him." "I can assure you he is harder hit by this than anyone." Londo bridled, "You might as well blame that half-witted fool you made emperor, HE is her employer after all. Or better still the idiot who thought of this whole insane idea!" Refa's lips thinned as he pressed them tight. Londo raised his eyebrows, and then his glass. "I see, congratulations then! It was a big hit... with the Narn!" "The capital is in uproar, Mollari!" Refa commented, snidely, "Public confidence must be restored." "The Moyal acted alone, then took her own life." Londo pointed out, "That should be enough for `public confidence'. Save your `show trial' for another day!" He looked pointedly at the empty glass. "Will there be anything else?" "Prepare the Moyal's body for immediate transport to Centauri prime." Refa announced, coldly, "And, Ambassador, be assured your attitude HAS been noted." The screen went blank briefly, then faded back to the main menu screen. "As has yours, Refa," Londo said to it, "as has yours." ---===***===--- Garibaldi activated the door-chime and waited. After a short pause, Ivanova's answered, "Open." The door slid aside, and he stepped through. Ivanova had traded her dress for some navy pyjamas and dressing gown. She smiled as she saw him. "I'm glad you could come." "You wanted to see me?" the security chief prompted. He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look more at ease than he felt. "Just to say thank you, I guess." she admitted, nodding at the frosted bottle that stood on her kitchen work-top, decked with a bow of red ribbon. "It was supposed to make up for the shirt." Garibaldi said, flatly, "Seems like a pretty dumb joke right about know." Susan walked over to the kitchen area and started to hunt through the drawers. "How about an update?" she asked. Garibaldi shrugged. "The lab boys say there's only one set of prints on the bottle, probably hers. When the biopsy's done we'll take her dabs and confirm it, but I guess it's like Londo said, she took her own life." Pulling open a yet another drawer, Ivanova began to rummage through it. "How's Vir taking it." she queried, concernedly. "He's not." Garibaldi answered, remembering the broken Centauri singing children's songs to the unheeding corpse, "They must have been pretty close, and her death just took him apart. I've got a couple of my people watching him in case he does anything stupid. But what this has done to him..." Michael shrugged, then watched as Ivanova crossed the room to a low table and set two small glasses on the its top. Sitting, she started to fill them from the bottle of vodka. "Speaking of doing something stupid." he said, angrily. "I don't care if you throw it over your shoulder, Garibaldi." Ivanova spat, "But don't think you're walking out of here without a toast to her memory." She slammed the bottle down on the tabletop so hard the security officer winced. "You can do that, can't you?" Garibaldi sat down next to her, and ever so cautiously, lifted his glass. "The Moyal." Ivanova said. "Today we sing no more." Garibaldi answered. At Ivanova's quizzical look he explained, "That was what she was singing." "Today we sing no more." Ivanova agreed, downing her drink in one go. Garibaldi sipped at the vodka. It's familiar warmth felt altogether too comfortable on his tongue. He looked at the glass, then at Ivanova. Her expression was split, at once both expectant and concerned. He drained the glass, then practically threw it to the table. He stood up. Ivanova took his hand. "Thank you." she said, and, "Sorry." The security chief shrugged. "No problem. Goodnight, Commander." Susan squeezed Garibaldi's hand then let it go. "Goodnight, Michael." As the door swung shut behind him, Ivanova instructed, "Lights, dim." She refilled her glass and curled her legs up under her on the sofa. One finger circled the rim of the glass aimlessly, while she sat and stared at nothing in particular. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sun Aug 4 01:00:24 1996 Date: Tue, 25 Jun 1996 15:37:03 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Today We Sing No More." - Part 6. "Today We Sing No More." ------------------------ Chapter 11. "I expected it to be bad," Sheridan murmured, "I didn't want to believe it'd be this bad!" He looked around the virtually deserted embarkation bay, and felt its drab chill reaching through the material of his dress uniform. "I should think a lot of Centauri are too scared to attend." Garibaldi replied, just as quietly, "You know, sympathy for a sympathiser? Might look kind of bad back home." Apart from Garibaldi, the captain and Ivanova, the only other occupants of the bay were two dockers - who stood uncomfortably at either side of the gently inclined ramp leading up to a Centauri transport - and a small man in a grey and blue jacket and pants, who was skittering around the bay, taking light readings or occasionally sighting through a small instrument he held to one eye. Ivanova leaned closer to the two officers. "Is he supposed to be here?" she asked. She caught the stranger taking a sighting on her and scowled at him until he, quickly, found something else to do. "He's a freelance cameraman." the security chief explained, "ISN have hired him to cover the proceedings. They sent through press accreditation and everything, couldn't keep him out." He noticed Sheridan draw breath to comment. "Remotes only." Michael reassured them, "He'll operate them from outside." Ivanova was watching the door. Suddenly she turned and hissed at him. "John!" Sheridan turned in time to see the Minbari ambassador and her aide enter the bay. "Ambassador." he greeted her, unable to stop a small smile, "It was good of you to come." "Captain, Commander, Mr. Garibaldi." she replied, both Minbari bowed. "I have unfinished business here." she added, but ignored their questioning looks. She took her place at the other side of the door to the humans. Lennier, as ever, was at her side. "Two minutes, Chief." Garibaldi's link said. Michael let go a low whistle and the cameraman turned, the security chief gestured with his head towards the doorway. With a nod, the ISN draftee slipped out of the bay. Sheridan noticed a movement to his right and stole a glance that way. The two dockers had straightened up and were smoothing out their overalls. Their FRESH overalls, Sheridan noticed belatedly, and he looked back at Delenn. Both she and Lennier were dressed much more formally than usual in white. Sheridan though to himself, Two security guards stepped through the doorway and took up position at either side. Behind them came Londo and Vir, the latter calm, if subdued. Finally, another docker wheeled the in the coffin, the whine of the loader's motors sounding loud in the unnatural stillness. The coffin itself was grey and unremarkable, and its very lack of ornateness seemed to imply a deliberate snub, a break with tradition. With a sudden movement, Delenn stepped forward and the coffin's progress came to an abrupt stop. She reached out and laid one hand on the sombre box. "Nasalann has heard your words, and will long remember them." she said softly, "May you know peace." Delenn let her hand fall from the coffin and stepped away and back to her place. Before the melancholy procession could restart, it was again interrupted, this time by a muffled scuffling from the sides of the bay. Without warning, numerous figures broke through the port's side door and stalked through the gloom towards the tiny congregation. They were Narn, and were led by G'Kar. "I'll kill him!" Garibaldi growled, and brought his link up to his mouth to call security. The captain caught his arm. "Wait." Sheridan said. Deep inside him he felt that this was not meant to spoil the occasion, and he had learned to play his hunches. Smoothly, the Narn separated into two ranks forming a corridor from the door to the ship. As one the dropped to one knee and waited. The disconcerted dock-worker cast a worried look at the Centauri ambassador. Londo just shrugged, and waved the human forward. As the coffin reached each pair of Narn, they bowed their heads and clasped both fists to their chest, keeping this position until the coffin had past. As the loader reached the ramp, and the two remaining dockers moved to help it aboard, the Narn stood and in good order began to move away, and out of the dock. "G'Kar," Mollari called softly, and the Narn leader turned, "You know, my government shall find this excellent propaganda." "Undoubtedly," G'Kar replied, unruffled, "but SHE will understand what we meant." Without another word, the former ambassador rejoined the silent Narn in making their exit. Londo looked round at the faces of the others, none of which regarded him with much respect. Ignoring them, he turned to Vir. "Are you all right?" he asked. The aide nodded, stiffly. "I shan't need you for the next few days, Vir." he added, "Make some time for yourself, get some rest." "Yes, Londo." Vir replied, automatically. As Mollari reached out to hold his shoulder, Vir took a step backwards and turned. "If you'll excuse me," he said coldly, "I have something I must do." The young Centauri walked away through the door without a backwards glance. Mollari turned to face the others. "Gentlemen, and ladies, your attendance is much appreciated." He made the smallest concession to a bow. "We didn't do it for you!" Ivanova commented, icily. "Good." Londo replied. He turned to look in the direction his attache had taken. "Because I wasn't thanking you for me." Chapter 12. G'Kar was surprised to find the path to his quarters obstructed by a milling group of his fellow Narn. At his approach, their muttering stopped and they moved aside to let him through to the cause of the commotion. Vir Cotto stood in front of the door to G'Kar's rooms, stoically ignoring the many angry looks and comments that were being directed his way. "What do you want, Centauri?" he asked, frostily. "I came to thank you." the attache replied. "Thank me!?" G'Kar exclaimed, "For what?" "For the honour you did my cousin." Vir explained. G'Kar stepped closer and stared the Centauri levelly in the eyes. In vain he searched for any sign of deception, his scrutiny revealing only the signs of pain, and loss. The Narn drew himself up to his full height and looked down at his unexpected visitor. At length, he commented, "She was a great woman. The Centauri are the lesser for her passing." "Yes," Vir candidly admitted, "they are." Tentatively, he bowed to the Narn leader. As much to his surprise as Vir's, G'Kar found himself returning the gesture. Straightening reflexively, the Narn stood to one side and the aide walked calmly away down the corridor and out of sight. G'Kar watched him go, then caught Ta'Lon looking at him strangely. "He is a most unusual Centauri, Ta'Lon." G'Kar commented, "I do not think I understand him at all!" The Narn warrior snorted. "All aliens are unusual, Citizen G'Kar. That is why they are alien." He caught G'Kar's expression and shrugged. G'Kar smiled at him. "Perhaps." He looked at the comfortably familiar faces of his people. "Leave me now, please. I have preparations to make." With his eyes he picked out to particular individuals from the group, and they nodded their understanding. As the others began to disperse, they remained, until only they, G'Kar and Ta'Lon were left. Ta'Lon watched the trio watch him. Finding no easy way to ask the question in his mind, he saluted and left them alone. ---===***===--- "Extraordinary scenes accompanied the departure today of the Moyal's body from Earth Alliance station Babylon 5. As this exclusive footage - brought to you by ISN - shows, the Centauri diva's remains were saluted by an honour guard of Narn. A gesture never before accorded to any Centauri. The Moyal died soon after she substituted the Narn hymn for the published programme. "In a statement by the Centauri government, it was confirmed that the Moyal had been suffering from a prolonged illness and had known that this might well be her final performance. A court spokesperson indicated that her intentions had been known, and approved, beforehand. And that the requiem was her gift to the Narn, among whom she had always enjoyed a great following. The Centauri government did admit that her choice, coming as it did unannounced, had caused some consternation among the Centauri populace. But insisted that the Emperor himself had allowed her final wish, out of respect for her long and distinguished service, both to the court and to the Centauri people. "In other news..." "Screen off." Sheridan snapped, and the news broadcast vanished. "You have to give Londo credit," Ivanova spat, "just when you think he can't get any lower..." "Normally, I'd agree." Garibaldi countered, "But you didn't see his expression when Vir blamed HIM for the Moyal's death." He shook his head. "I don't think he had a hand in it. This time." At the captain's and Ivanova's disbelieving stares, he added, "I'm serious! Sure he shouts at him, and complains about him. But deep down, I think Londo kind of likes Vir." The two officers' expressions didn't change. "All right then," Garibaldi snapped, "DON'T believe me!" "It's G'Kar's reaction I'm more worried about." Sheridan commented. He paused in reflection for a moment. "Come to think of it." he said, worriedly, "Have either of you SEEN G'Kar since the docking bay?" The three officers exchanged pensive looks. ---===***===--- In the dim, carmine light of his quarters, G'Kar sat cross-legged at a low table and studied the arrangements. Satisfied, he looked at the two Narn sat to either side of him. "Begin." he said. The three aliens picked up the tapers in front of them, and touched them to the surface of the oil that burned in a small bowl in the centre of the table. As one, they retrieved the ignited tapers and held them to the candle each had placed in front of them. Once the candles were lit, the tapers were returned to the bowl to be consumed. Silently G'Kar looked across at the forth side of the table. There, another candle stood, unlit. Alongside was an intact taper, and on the floor lay an empty cushion, its surface unruffled. G'Kar drew breath, and at his first sound the voices of the other Narn joined him. With great passion, and great sadness, the trio began to sing. Their strident voices echoed loud in the small, still room. "Sivodna mi pesnalu netyesho..." [The End] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------